


If the sky cracks...

by Sheffield



Category: Sherlock (TV), Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: Crack, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-20
Updated: 2013-02-20
Packaged: 2017-11-29 23:20:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/692685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sheffield/pseuds/Sheffield
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if Q was the youngest Holmes brother and M was Mummy and was really not happy about being dead?  Are YOU going to argue with her?</p>
            </blockquote>





	If the sky cracks...

“What’s this about me being dead?” M said irritably. Mycroft looked as sheepish as the British Government ever managed to look but it was Sherlock who, sprawled backwards in the armchair, drawled “We were informed you went with Bond. To Skyfall. To set a trap for - what was the man’s name, Mycroft? And then he shot you.”  
“Don’t be ridiculous!” she snapped. “What kind of a trap would that be, I ask you? If you want to set a trap you get there first, with guns. Lots of guns. Or at least, lots of men with guns. Wandering off alone with Bond isn’t setting a trap, it’s setting yourself up with a “please shoot me” sign on your back.”  
“Oh, be fair Mummy, we were all told the same thing. It seemed so… definite.”  
“Who the hell is that?” John asked.  
“That? Oh - haven’t you met Q?”  
“No, and who the hell is Q? For that matter, what kind of a name is “Q”, for goodness sake? I mean, “Sherlock” is bad enough. “Mycroft” is plain ridiculous. But “Q”?”  
“His real name is Sherrinford,” Sherlock explained helpfully, “but he refused to call himself anything except Q when he fell in love with Stephen Fry at the age of, what, three, wasn’t it?”  
“Thank you, Sherly. John, sorry, we haven’t been introduced - I’m the youngest Holmes brother. Also known as Q professionally, as it happens, as in “quartermaster”.”  
“Oh well, if you WILL work for Mummy…” Sherlock sneered.  
“That’s quite enough of that Sherlock, thank you,” M said. John wasn’t sure how a middle aged woman inserted quite so much steel into a simple sentence but he took notes for future reference. “Now if you’re quite finished, I’d very much like to know when you plan on making me undead, Mycroft, please? And, before you say anything John, no, we’re not an ancient and powerful family of hereditary vampires, I simply meant I want Mycroft to clear up the paperwork and stop my card being refused in Tescos because it thinks I’m dead.”  
“I-“   
“Yes, thank you Mycroft, but that won’t do at all. I’d like to be returned to the ranks of the living this afternoon if it’s all the same to you please. Now. Ah yes, next on the agenda. Weddings.”  
Sherlock sat up at the same time as Mycroft and Q sat down either ends of the expensive-looking sofa, so the three Holmes boys suddenly gave the appearance of three startled meercats. John heroically refrained from laughing.  
“Well don’t look at me like that. Mycroft, you’re the elder brother. Do you want to take precedence? I’m assuming, of course, that a triple wedding is out of the question? You and Gregory have been sneaking around pretending you’ve never met for quite long enough thank you. And the security detail on a simple Scotland Yard detective is getting frankly embarassing. As the consort of the British Government the cost of his security detail can disappear into the same black hole as John’s and no-one the wiser.”  
“My security detail…?”  
“Irrelevant. Deleted.” Sherlock said hopefully. John gave him the “I’ll get you for that one later” look and watched his ears turn pink, and then turned back to M.  
“Bond, of course, is a hopeless case. Every time a double O gets married his spouse gets messily dead no more than half an hour later, so I’m quite happy for you to carry on with your… arrangements… as they are, Q. But either Mycroft or Sherlock is going to be married before the end of the month so make your minds up to it.”  
“Aw, why does it have to be one of the BOYS who gets married,” a female voice cut in. John looked at the slender young woman…  
M produced a machine pistol from her handbag and shot the young woman dead, and then deader than that, and then really, truly, in about fifty seven pieces that you could easily pack up and sell as horsemeat kind of dead.  
“Let me make it perfectly clear,” she said loudly, “there will be NO Mary Sues in THIS family.”  
Well what could anyone say?  
“Yes ma’am”


End file.
